I haven't written in a while because so much has happened! I've been working a bit, saying goodbye to Melbourne and planning my future travel adventures. I definitely believe in angels and the activities and people in my life for the past few weeks have helped me overcome my loneliness.
A few weeks ago, I fled from Melbourne city to Williamstown to escape my loneliness. The MacNeils, who are relatives of my friend Robert van Waarden, live in that historic suburb of Melbourne about 20 minutes on the city train away from the CBD. It was lovely to spend some time "en famille" with Nora and Richard and their lovely teenage daughters, Anna and Ella. The beach is about a 10 minute walk from their house and I was able to borrow a bicycle to trawl the neighbourhood with. The MacNeils provided excellent company, good food and a cozy bed; by the end of my first weekend there, I was feeling back to my happy self.
I've been a bit worried about money lately, in addition to being at a loss for what to do with my time, so I thought I might find a job. I set out from the MacNeils after my lovely weekend retreat, determined to go back to the city to find a job. About 15 minutes after leaving their place...I was gainfully employed! I thought I'd stroll around the waterfront one more time before heading for the train and wandered by The Bend Wine Bar on Douglas Parade, about two blocks from my host's house. I'd heard about The Bend from Tom and Anne Peters, friends of my parents who visited Australia last year. A sign in the window said they were looking for a part-time waitress and, after a short discussion with the owner of our common acquaintance and my job skills, I was hired!
I just loved working as a waitress! The Bend seats about 30 people, serving excellent food and wine. My boss, Daniel, was patient and supportive and I learned the ropes quickly. In the kitchen, Kurtis, the chef, and Parker, the apprentice, were friendly and full of pleasant teasing. I've always enjoyed working with men and this experience was no different. We all worked hard, laughed a lot and got into our cups together once all the customers had gone home. My mother's training in cleaning and party prep certainly paid off: I made excellent tips and felt at ease serving in a fancy resto without much experience. I got delicious meals and wine with every shift and soon found myself saying to customers, "Oh, yes, the kangaroo sirloin is divine. I highly recommend it paired with pinot noir." Having a job put me back in the present - I wasn't thinking about the past or the future. I was just doing my job and getting the great satisfaction that comes with working hard for a job well done.
Back at the MacNeils, who graciously let me stay with them while I worked, I went for lovely runs with Ella around the neighbourhood, made Christmas cookies and helped Richard and the girls pick out the Christmas tree. The contingent of cousins from Botswana arrived for the holidays last week and the house was busy with secret present wrapping, big family meals and lots of dance music. Those African boys, Jaspar and Charlie, can really dance! I was invited to say for the holidays with all the family but I declined because of plans to head to Kangaroo Valley in New South Wales. Once I finished my last shift at The Bend (they are closed for the holidays) and said goodbye to the MacNeil clan, I headed back to Melbourne to pack my belongings and move along.
It wasn't that hard to say goodbye to Melbourne. Most of my good friends had already left and the place was getting a bit empty. In my days off, I visited all those places I'd been meaning to see all semester: the National Gallery, Docklands, the State Library, etc. On my last night in town, I had champagne with Ramiz at sunny Rooftop Bar, with panoramic views of the city. We then met up with Channie, my Korean girlfriend, and Georgia, one of the Fraser Island crew, for a final Korean meal and a drink on Brunswick street. It was hardest to say goodbye to Channie. I've been staying with her whenever I wasn't at the MacNeils (I'm becoming a couch-surfer extraordinaire!) and we've had so many lovely relaxed times together. She walked me to the curb with all my bags on my last morning in Melbs. We hugged for a long time and promised to visit each other in our home countries.
In the taxi to the airport, the cabbie asked, "Going home?" I said, "No, just moving along." I've been thinking that moving on is both the best part and the hardest part of traveling. I'm excited to be moving along from Melbourne but sad for what I'm leaving behind. For now, the next stop is New South Wales, and Kangaroo Valley for Christmas.
More news about Australian summer and holidays to follow. Lots and lots of love to everyone back home...I'm humming "White Christmas" and thinking of you all.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Endings and beginnings
For the past five months, my blog has been many happy tales of my carefree travels and fun adventures with friends in Melbourne. In truth, I have never felt sad or homesick since coming to Australia. This week was a different story. With the end of my safe routine and the departure of treasured friends, I got a pretty bad case of The Lonelys. What a terrible feeling to have in a far away land – and yet, this cloud has a silver lining.
In the days leading up to Texas Matt’s departure, we undertook much beer drinking. That’s how they “do it right” in Austin. We met on a sunny afternoon terrace at the Napier Hotel in Fitzroy, amid lively tables of friends or families on a Saturday outing. A little girl poked me with her red balloon while Matt and I chatted and shared a jug of Horseshoe Draught. Matt was one of my best here in Australia – he would unfailingly pull me out of the law library and into the pub and we shared many jibes and laughs. When I dubbed him Matthieu (“Uh, is that French?”), he declared it the best nickname ever.
Later, Texas Kelly joined us to complete the Melbourne Trifecta. She’s been caught up in an Australian love affair and couldn’t be happier for that addition to her experience here. Kelly has also been an amazing friend for me here. I’ll never forget our times together, going for pedicures and chatting while little Vietnamese women scrubbed and massaged our feet. Or the time we went to eat at Minh Minh in Richmond and talked so long that the waiter finally kicked us out. Kelly is soft, reserved and sweet – a real Southern Belle. She always listened to my constant romantic drama and we’ve had many giggles together.
On Matt’s last night, the Melbourne Trifecta slipped away from his going-away festivities to have one last drink together. At the Little Creatures Dining Hall on Brunswick Street, we shared dessert and wine, discussing our favourite Aussie experiences together. It was hard to say goodbye, but plans are afoot for further exchange visits between Montreal and Austin later in 2009.
Once Matt left, I was pretty much on my own with Channie away traveling the east coast and Kelly tangled with her Aussie bogan. The days started slowly for me. I was sad and immobilized – I’m used to having a schedule, a purpose, a routine. But when I dusted myself off and picked up to CBD (that’s the Central Business District, aka Downtown), I discovered all kinds of solo fun. There was the international homeless soccer tournament, the National Gallery of Victoria, and an afternoon screening of the new Bond movie at my favourite theatre on Collins Street. They sell house-made ice cream and only seven other people were there at 4:00pm on a Thursday.
At some point in my downtown wanderings, I realized that the travel portion of my year off has begun. In the months ahead, much solo traveling awaits me; I’m planning to go to South East Asia after Christmas and then finish up with Western and Central Australia before I go back to Canada next May. I originally had three or four potential travel partners lined up but, one by one, they fell like dominoes and my new plan is to travel alone. Honestly, I’m terrified. But I’m also excited. I haven’t felt this alone since I first moved to the big city all by myself. Back in Montreal, I learned how to enjoy my own company. While I’ve always craved romantic love, my path seems to present an even bigger love affair: the one I’m developing with myself. It isn’t always easy but, in the end, learning to love myself is such a blessing. After all, if I don’t, who will? I have a feeling that I will face many challenges and enjoy many pleasures in the months ahead. I’m excited to know that I have a strong travel companion right here inside of me.
More stories about the long goodbye to Melbourne will follow soon. Lots of love to everyone back home.
In the days leading up to Texas Matt’s departure, we undertook much beer drinking. That’s how they “do it right” in Austin. We met on a sunny afternoon terrace at the Napier Hotel in Fitzroy, amid lively tables of friends or families on a Saturday outing. A little girl poked me with her red balloon while Matt and I chatted and shared a jug of Horseshoe Draught. Matt was one of my best here in Australia – he would unfailingly pull me out of the law library and into the pub and we shared many jibes and laughs. When I dubbed him Matthieu (“Uh, is that French?”), he declared it the best nickname ever.
Later, Texas Kelly joined us to complete the Melbourne Trifecta. She’s been caught up in an Australian love affair and couldn’t be happier for that addition to her experience here. Kelly has also been an amazing friend for me here. I’ll never forget our times together, going for pedicures and chatting while little Vietnamese women scrubbed and massaged our feet. Or the time we went to eat at Minh Minh in Richmond and talked so long that the waiter finally kicked us out. Kelly is soft, reserved and sweet – a real Southern Belle. She always listened to my constant romantic drama and we’ve had many giggles together.
On Matt’s last night, the Melbourne Trifecta slipped away from his going-away festivities to have one last drink together. At the Little Creatures Dining Hall on Brunswick Street, we shared dessert and wine, discussing our favourite Aussie experiences together. It was hard to say goodbye, but plans are afoot for further exchange visits between Montreal and Austin later in 2009.
Once Matt left, I was pretty much on my own with Channie away traveling the east coast and Kelly tangled with her Aussie bogan. The days started slowly for me. I was sad and immobilized – I’m used to having a schedule, a purpose, a routine. But when I dusted myself off and picked up to CBD (that’s the Central Business District, aka Downtown), I discovered all kinds of solo fun. There was the international homeless soccer tournament, the National Gallery of Victoria, and an afternoon screening of the new Bond movie at my favourite theatre on Collins Street. They sell house-made ice cream and only seven other people were there at 4:00pm on a Thursday.
At some point in my downtown wanderings, I realized that the travel portion of my year off has begun. In the months ahead, much solo traveling awaits me; I’m planning to go to South East Asia after Christmas and then finish up with Western and Central Australia before I go back to Canada next May. I originally had three or four potential travel partners lined up but, one by one, they fell like dominoes and my new plan is to travel alone. Honestly, I’m terrified. But I’m also excited. I haven’t felt this alone since I first moved to the big city all by myself. Back in Montreal, I learned how to enjoy my own company. While I’ve always craved romantic love, my path seems to present an even bigger love affair: the one I’m developing with myself. It isn’t always easy but, in the end, learning to love myself is such a blessing. After all, if I don’t, who will? I have a feeling that I will face many challenges and enjoy many pleasures in the months ahead. I’m excited to know that I have a strong travel companion right here inside of me.
More stories about the long goodbye to Melbourne will follow soon. Lots of love to everyone back home.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Into the Mystic
“We were born before the wind,
Also younger than the sun,
Ere the bonny boat was won
As we sailed into the mystic.”
The Great Ocean Road is a magnificent strip of highway, starting about two hours southeast of Melbourne and continuing for 270 kilometres, winding along amazing cliffs, through rainforests and past aquamarine sea vistas. Fresh-faced and glowing like a new law graduate, I went with Rachel to pick up our rental car for what was to be an amazing road trip. We were off to discover the wilds of Victoria, united as girlfriends, adventurers and foodies! Of course, the first stop was at the Queen Victoria Market to provision ourselves – only the freshest and finest for our distinguishing palates. We got a long loaf of fresh Turkish bread, smoked turkey, olive tapenade, various cheeses, fruits and veg, and three bottles of wine from my favourite vendor…all for about 60 dollars Canadian. An excellent beginning.
Rach had made some excellent mix CDs for the trip: lots of Paul Simon, Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan, etc. We listened to the four discs until we were completely sick of every song…except our very fitting theme song: Van Morrison’s Into the Mystic. It is hard to describe the breathtaking beauty of the Great Ocean Road, combined with my ecstasy over finishing law school and the joy of being on a giggly road trip with a good friend.
“Hark now, hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly
Into the mystic.”
On our first day, we had a delicious picnic lunch at Torquay and wandered the beach past groups of teenagers set free from the classroom for Schoolies Week. Later, we stopped at Anglesea to run screaming into the freezing ocean and body surf on the waves, managing to avoid being bowled over by all the beginner surfers taking lessons. At Lorne, we slowed down to breathe in the relaxed atmosphere of this classy seaside holiday town. But we didn’t stop for the night until we reached Apollo Bay and the Surfside Backpackers, a very obliging little hostel edged by vast ocean.
Way back in September, when the Fraser Island crew met up at the backpackers hostel in Hervey Bay, Rachel commented on my tendency to find the only hot guy in the vicinity and immediately make friends. Apollo Bay was no disappointment; within thirty minutes of our arrival, I was chatting up a handsome German soldier, who was on leave for several months and had a slow, sweet smile. In an excellent division of labour, I nested in the dorms, organizing our bedding and belongings, while Rachel cooked a fabulous risotto with asparagus, mushrooms and steamed fish.
“And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home
And when that fog horn blows I want to hear it
I dont have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul”
On day two, we did a hike in the Otway Rainforest and finished the Great Ocean Road by viewing the Twelve Apostles, a collection of majestic limestone stacks left behind when the earth between them and the mainland washed away. Once past Warnambool, I took the wheel (driving stick on the left hand side!) and directed us north on a quiet road, venturing inland past golden wheat fields, groves of eucalypts and, of course, countless sheep. Rachel slept in the passenger’s seat and I listened to Bob Dylan on low, thinking of my cousin Darryl, who passed away in August under very unfortunate circumstances. It was Darryl’s birthday that day and I thought his troubled spirit would be pleased with the peacefulness of the Victorian countryside.
We stayed at the Asses Ears Wilderness Lodge in the Grampians National Park that night. The lodge is named after a nearby mountain but I think the owners relished the derivative name – their slogan was “Kicking Ass in the Grampians!” It was pretty quiet in those parts and Rachel and I had a whole cabin to ourselves. We quickly unloaded the car, strewing our gear everywhere. I went to the main kitchen to stash our groceries in the fridge…and came across a handsome man. How surprising! Of course, I quickly made friends with Mick, a tour guide from Melbourne and definitely the hottest guy for miles around. That night in the main lodge, Rachel and I nursed a few Carlton Draughts, dined on kangaroo steak and chicken parmas and played Scrabble while the sun set to a symphony of kookaburra song. Back in the cabin, I taught Rach a couple of songs on the guitar before we retired early.
My acquaintance with Mick proved very useful the next day when he showed us all the good hikes, even waiting for us to follow his tour group van to some remote locations. We scampered ahead of his group up Hollow Mountain and were rewarded with a glorious view of that golden landscape dotted with eucalypts. After another short hike to the base of MacKenzie Waterfalls and a relaxed lunch in Hall’s Gap, we started the long drive back to Melbourne on the Great Western Highway. The weather had been glorious all three days: sunny and hot. We arrived back to wet streets and cool air in Melbs – apparently, it had been cold and rainy the whole time.
“I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float into the mystic”
I have to thank Rachel for making those days after finishing law school very special. She rocked my gypsy soul with her humour, energy, amazing driving and cooking skills, and just general joie de vivre! The whole trip is emblazoned in my memory by senses: amazing sights, sounds and tastes. And, of course, I will never forget that amazing feeling of freedom when we were sailing along the coast or past fields and mountains, singing along at the the top of our lungs to our theme song, together floating into the mystic.
Also younger than the sun,
Ere the bonny boat was won
As we sailed into the mystic.”
The Great Ocean Road is a magnificent strip of highway, starting about two hours southeast of Melbourne and continuing for 270 kilometres, winding along amazing cliffs, through rainforests and past aquamarine sea vistas. Fresh-faced and glowing like a new law graduate, I went with Rachel to pick up our rental car for what was to be an amazing road trip. We were off to discover the wilds of Victoria, united as girlfriends, adventurers and foodies! Of course, the first stop was at the Queen Victoria Market to provision ourselves – only the freshest and finest for our distinguishing palates. We got a long loaf of fresh Turkish bread, smoked turkey, olive tapenade, various cheeses, fruits and veg, and three bottles of wine from my favourite vendor…all for about 60 dollars Canadian. An excellent beginning.
Rach had made some excellent mix CDs for the trip: lots of Paul Simon, Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan, etc. We listened to the four discs until we were completely sick of every song…except our very fitting theme song: Van Morrison’s Into the Mystic. It is hard to describe the breathtaking beauty of the Great Ocean Road, combined with my ecstasy over finishing law school and the joy of being on a giggly road trip with a good friend.
“Hark now, hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly
Into the mystic.”
On our first day, we had a delicious picnic lunch at Torquay and wandered the beach past groups of teenagers set free from the classroom for Schoolies Week. Later, we stopped at Anglesea to run screaming into the freezing ocean and body surf on the waves, managing to avoid being bowled over by all the beginner surfers taking lessons. At Lorne, we slowed down to breathe in the relaxed atmosphere of this classy seaside holiday town. But we didn’t stop for the night until we reached Apollo Bay and the Surfside Backpackers, a very obliging little hostel edged by vast ocean.
Way back in September, when the Fraser Island crew met up at the backpackers hostel in Hervey Bay, Rachel commented on my tendency to find the only hot guy in the vicinity and immediately make friends. Apollo Bay was no disappointment; within thirty minutes of our arrival, I was chatting up a handsome German soldier, who was on leave for several months and had a slow, sweet smile. In an excellent division of labour, I nested in the dorms, organizing our bedding and belongings, while Rachel cooked a fabulous risotto with asparagus, mushrooms and steamed fish.
“And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home
And when that fog horn blows I want to hear it
I dont have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul”
On day two, we did a hike in the Otway Rainforest and finished the Great Ocean Road by viewing the Twelve Apostles, a collection of majestic limestone stacks left behind when the earth between them and the mainland washed away. Once past Warnambool, I took the wheel (driving stick on the left hand side!) and directed us north on a quiet road, venturing inland past golden wheat fields, groves of eucalypts and, of course, countless sheep. Rachel slept in the passenger’s seat and I listened to Bob Dylan on low, thinking of my cousin Darryl, who passed away in August under very unfortunate circumstances. It was Darryl’s birthday that day and I thought his troubled spirit would be pleased with the peacefulness of the Victorian countryside.
We stayed at the Asses Ears Wilderness Lodge in the Grampians National Park that night. The lodge is named after a nearby mountain but I think the owners relished the derivative name – their slogan was “Kicking Ass in the Grampians!” It was pretty quiet in those parts and Rachel and I had a whole cabin to ourselves. We quickly unloaded the car, strewing our gear everywhere. I went to the main kitchen to stash our groceries in the fridge…and came across a handsome man. How surprising! Of course, I quickly made friends with Mick, a tour guide from Melbourne and definitely the hottest guy for miles around. That night in the main lodge, Rachel and I nursed a few Carlton Draughts, dined on kangaroo steak and chicken parmas and played Scrabble while the sun set to a symphony of kookaburra song. Back in the cabin, I taught Rach a couple of songs on the guitar before we retired early.
My acquaintance with Mick proved very useful the next day when he showed us all the good hikes, even waiting for us to follow his tour group van to some remote locations. We scampered ahead of his group up Hollow Mountain and were rewarded with a glorious view of that golden landscape dotted with eucalypts. After another short hike to the base of MacKenzie Waterfalls and a relaxed lunch in Hall’s Gap, we started the long drive back to Melbourne on the Great Western Highway. The weather had been glorious all three days: sunny and hot. We arrived back to wet streets and cool air in Melbs – apparently, it had been cold and rainy the whole time.
“I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float into the mystic”
I have to thank Rachel for making those days after finishing law school very special. She rocked my gypsy soul with her humour, energy, amazing driving and cooking skills, and just general joie de vivre! The whole trip is emblazoned in my memory by senses: amazing sights, sounds and tastes. And, of course, I will never forget that amazing feeling of freedom when we were sailing along the coast or past fields and mountains, singing along at the the top of our lungs to our theme song, together floating into the mystic.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Pomp and circumstance
Many good things have happened in the past few weeks, my friend. First things first: I have officially finished my law school exams! As long as I pass all my subjects – of course, you can leave it to a future lawyer to put a caveat in here – I have finished law school. Hurray! I cannot tell you what an amazing feeling that is.
Writing my exams was actually kind of fun. They took place at the Royal Exhibition Grounds in Carlton Gardens, about a 10-minute walk from Melbourne Uni campus. For three weeks, at 9am and 2pm each day, thousands of students swarmed nervously into the massive and ornate Royal Exhibition building. No one could pay attention to the building’s beautiful moldings and majestic architecture because they were too busy scribbling answers to defamation law questions or calculus problems.
The best part of any exam was, of course, that joyous moment at the end when the invigilator announced that we could leave. Thousands of students swarmed excitedly out of the building, back into the hot air of the day, chatting loudly and smiling widely. Outside, the fountain gloriously trumpeted water and the city skyscrapers loomed above the lush green trees. Everything was happiness and triumph!
After my last exam, I walked out, stunned and thrilled. Channie, my Korean girlfriend, somehow found me in the crowd (she had been writing her last chemistry exam) and she ran up to me, simultaneously grabbing me, jumping up and down and squealing. We giggled and danced all the way to the Lincoln Hotel where we met up with three Aussie girls from my law class and Rachel, who had just arrived in Melbs to help me celebrate. We all celebrated on that long Thursday afternoon with many bottles of champagne and a box of chocolates…it was the perfect ending to my degree.
My law degree has meant so many things to me. Over the past four years, I think I became an adult (well, mostly). I have learned the requisite skills of research, writing and critical thinking. But, more importantly, I discovered the power and satisfaction of having one’s own career. I am so excited to do interesting and challenging work in my life. Perhaps the greatest gift has been developing the confidence in myself to create this beautiful reality.
All that being said…I don’t start my lawyer job for another five months. What to do with my time?! Yes, you guessed it: more travel adventures! After our champagne afternoon, Rachel and I put ourselves to bed early and the next day we were off on a road trip. More news from the road to follow soon – lots of love to everyone back home.
Writing my exams was actually kind of fun. They took place at the Royal Exhibition Grounds in Carlton Gardens, about a 10-minute walk from Melbourne Uni campus. For three weeks, at 9am and 2pm each day, thousands of students swarmed nervously into the massive and ornate Royal Exhibition building. No one could pay attention to the building’s beautiful moldings and majestic architecture because they were too busy scribbling answers to defamation law questions or calculus problems.
The best part of any exam was, of course, that joyous moment at the end when the invigilator announced that we could leave. Thousands of students swarmed excitedly out of the building, back into the hot air of the day, chatting loudly and smiling widely. Outside, the fountain gloriously trumpeted water and the city skyscrapers loomed above the lush green trees. Everything was happiness and triumph!
After my last exam, I walked out, stunned and thrilled. Channie, my Korean girlfriend, somehow found me in the crowd (she had been writing her last chemistry exam) and she ran up to me, simultaneously grabbing me, jumping up and down and squealing. We giggled and danced all the way to the Lincoln Hotel where we met up with three Aussie girls from my law class and Rachel, who had just arrived in Melbs to help me celebrate. We all celebrated on that long Thursday afternoon with many bottles of champagne and a box of chocolates…it was the perfect ending to my degree.
My law degree has meant so many things to me. Over the past four years, I think I became an adult (well, mostly). I have learned the requisite skills of research, writing and critical thinking. But, more importantly, I discovered the power and satisfaction of having one’s own career. I am so excited to do interesting and challenging work in my life. Perhaps the greatest gift has been developing the confidence in myself to create this beautiful reality.
All that being said…I don’t start my lawyer job for another five months. What to do with my time?! Yes, you guessed it: more travel adventures! After our champagne afternoon, Rachel and I put ourselves to bed early and the next day we were off on a road trip. More news from the road to follow soon – lots of love to everyone back home.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Tasmania: your natural state
I fell in love with Tasmania even before I set foot on its soil. From my window seat in the airplane, I got my first glimpse of the island’s striking hills and beautiful bays. I had signed up for the trip through the Melbourne University Outdoors Program and I flew into Hobart to meet my group: 27 exchange students, 4 guides and 3 minibuses.
In case you’re not familiar with Tassie, it is an island off the south coast of Australia – a one-hour flight (or twelve-hour ferry ride) from Melbourne. Tasmania’s breathtaking beauty and peaceful surroundings belie a dark past. As a colony, it was once Van Diemen’s Land where thousands of convicts from England and the rest of Australia were shipped. The history of the aboriginal population of Tasmania is pretty bleak too. There were about 5000 Aborigines on the island in 1800 but only 300 left by 1830. European weapons or diseases killed most, often in gruesome ways.
On the first day, we visited the historic convict settlement at Port Arthur. A person could spend days exploring this massive site. The prisons really affected me, especially the Separate Prison at the back of Port Arthur. This is where new convicts would be temporarily placed when they arrived on the boats. It was a place of psychological torture, designed to break the spirits of criminals. Upon arrival, the convicts were stripped of all their possessions and their identities, including their names. A number was assigned to each instead. No speaking was allowed in the Separate Prison and both convicts and guards had to wear hooded masks whenever the convicts were out of their cells – never a friendly face to be seen. The exercise yards were like hallways with white walls open to the sky; each day a convict was allowed a few minutes exercise walking up and down the corridor alone. In the chapel, there were tiered rows of stalls – like upright coffins – a convict was shuffled into a stall and the door was closed between him and the next stall. I enclosed myself into one stall and found that I couldn’t see anything to either side or behind me. All I could see was the pulpit and could only imagine the kind of fire and brimstone sermons that the clergy of the day would have delivered from that spot. Unbelievably, most convicts had to stay in the Separate Prison for four to twelve months before being released into the “regular” part of the convict settlement. As a law student, I was already doubtful of the utility of prisons for rehabilitation and my Port Arthur experience reinforced the idea that prisons can sometimes do more damage than good.
Despite these dark spirits that haunt Tasmania’s history, I felt very much at home there. The weather was fall-like with crisp sunny days, sweet and sun-soaked like a freshly-picked Granny Smith apple. The landscape was dramatic with green hills dotted with countless grazing sheep next to calm blue bays – as we drove past a bay near White Beach, I saw several black swans gliding along. Tasmania is much more lush than the dry mainland of Australia. We passed groves of walnut trees and stands of eucalypts, those Australian icons. At the Tasmanian Devil Conservation Park, we got to watch the ferocious little devils completely devour their wallaby meat: fur, bones, veins and all. They are surprisingly cute little animals; a delicate English bloke from our trip remarked in his posh accent, “Oh, look how they gamble about!” But in the devils’ sweet little faces are jaws so powerful they could crush human bone.
Tasmania is an outdoorsy place and we hiked every day: into Wineglass Bay, around the Launceston Gorge and up to the base of Cradle Mountain. I huffed and puffed a little at first – too many days in the law library – but felt fit, strong and healthy by the end of the week. In the national parks, wildlife abounds. I met a very nice little wallaby in the parking lot at Freycinet National Park. He came right up to me, probably wanting something to eat, but human food is deadly for the native animals whose digestive systems are designed for eating native plant life. Later, in Cradle Mountain National Park, a wombat waddled out of the forest, looked at our group, and decided to go back where it came from.
Our big tour group was sub-divided into more manageable sections because of the three vans. I really enjoyed the crew in our van: Channie (my Korean girlfriend), Corey (a handsome lacrosse player from Oregon), Conor (a polite redhead from Minneapolis), Sam (a feisty little blond from Michigan), Tim (groovy Texan from Austin who provided great road music), Joshua (one of the Three Stooges from Long Island) and a few others. The trip leaders were all outdoor educators by profession: four handsome and capable men, the archetypes of the Australian bush. One in particular, whom I shall simply refer to as The Woodsman, had blue eyes to lose yourself in and broad shoulders strong enough to carry any burden.
Out of mobile phone range for most of the trip, we pulled into Campbelltown for a sunny afternoon pit-stop to find out that Obama had just won the election. Everyone rejoiced: Americans, Aussies, Brits, Danes, and a Canadian. It just seemed so fitting to hear the news in such a beautiful place; back in the van, I sang Neil Young to myself, “Keep on rocking in the free world!”
We stayed at Launceston Backpackers on our final night and I have to declare it as the nicest hostel I’ve ever stayed in (although I guess that may not mean much considering that my first-ever hostel stay was in September). The place was spacious, extremely clean and very cozy: we lounged in the dining area, made amazing meals in the spotless, restaurant-grade kitchen and got cozy by the fire in the TV room to watch Harry Potter before bedtime.
I was the last one to leave Launny and spent my last few hours wandering the around the waterfront and arts precinct. I found the City Park and giggled over the Macaque monkeys who live and play there. The city reminded a bit me of Charlottetown: small with beautiful historic buildings, bustling on a Saturday but empty on a Wednesday night in early spring. Before leaving, I wrote a few postcards to the people whose addresses I know by heart (maybe you’ll get one in your mailbox soon?).
For me, Tasmania was a place of solace, reflection and health. Perhaps I should have spent the study week between classes and exams holed up in the library? Never! Tassie made my heart sing like in the Sound of Music: “I go to the hills when my heart is lonely…” If you ever get a chance, don’t hesitate to discover Tasmania and your own natural state.
In case you’re not familiar with Tassie, it is an island off the south coast of Australia – a one-hour flight (or twelve-hour ferry ride) from Melbourne. Tasmania’s breathtaking beauty and peaceful surroundings belie a dark past. As a colony, it was once Van Diemen’s Land where thousands of convicts from England and the rest of Australia were shipped. The history of the aboriginal population of Tasmania is pretty bleak too. There were about 5000 Aborigines on the island in 1800 but only 300 left by 1830. European weapons or diseases killed most, often in gruesome ways.
On the first day, we visited the historic convict settlement at Port Arthur. A person could spend days exploring this massive site. The prisons really affected me, especially the Separate Prison at the back of Port Arthur. This is where new convicts would be temporarily placed when they arrived on the boats. It was a place of psychological torture, designed to break the spirits of criminals. Upon arrival, the convicts were stripped of all their possessions and their identities, including their names. A number was assigned to each instead. No speaking was allowed in the Separate Prison and both convicts and guards had to wear hooded masks whenever the convicts were out of their cells – never a friendly face to be seen. The exercise yards were like hallways with white walls open to the sky; each day a convict was allowed a few minutes exercise walking up and down the corridor alone. In the chapel, there were tiered rows of stalls – like upright coffins – a convict was shuffled into a stall and the door was closed between him and the next stall. I enclosed myself into one stall and found that I couldn’t see anything to either side or behind me. All I could see was the pulpit and could only imagine the kind of fire and brimstone sermons that the clergy of the day would have delivered from that spot. Unbelievably, most convicts had to stay in the Separate Prison for four to twelve months before being released into the “regular” part of the convict settlement. As a law student, I was already doubtful of the utility of prisons for rehabilitation and my Port Arthur experience reinforced the idea that prisons can sometimes do more damage than good.
Despite these dark spirits that haunt Tasmania’s history, I felt very much at home there. The weather was fall-like with crisp sunny days, sweet and sun-soaked like a freshly-picked Granny Smith apple. The landscape was dramatic with green hills dotted with countless grazing sheep next to calm blue bays – as we drove past a bay near White Beach, I saw several black swans gliding along. Tasmania is much more lush than the dry mainland of Australia. We passed groves of walnut trees and stands of eucalypts, those Australian icons. At the Tasmanian Devil Conservation Park, we got to watch the ferocious little devils completely devour their wallaby meat: fur, bones, veins and all. They are surprisingly cute little animals; a delicate English bloke from our trip remarked in his posh accent, “Oh, look how they gamble about!” But in the devils’ sweet little faces are jaws so powerful they could crush human bone.
Tasmania is an outdoorsy place and we hiked every day: into Wineglass Bay, around the Launceston Gorge and up to the base of Cradle Mountain. I huffed and puffed a little at first – too many days in the law library – but felt fit, strong and healthy by the end of the week. In the national parks, wildlife abounds. I met a very nice little wallaby in the parking lot at Freycinet National Park. He came right up to me, probably wanting something to eat, but human food is deadly for the native animals whose digestive systems are designed for eating native plant life. Later, in Cradle Mountain National Park, a wombat waddled out of the forest, looked at our group, and decided to go back where it came from.
Our big tour group was sub-divided into more manageable sections because of the three vans. I really enjoyed the crew in our van: Channie (my Korean girlfriend), Corey (a handsome lacrosse player from Oregon), Conor (a polite redhead from Minneapolis), Sam (a feisty little blond from Michigan), Tim (groovy Texan from Austin who provided great road music), Joshua (one of the Three Stooges from Long Island) and a few others. The trip leaders were all outdoor educators by profession: four handsome and capable men, the archetypes of the Australian bush. One in particular, whom I shall simply refer to as The Woodsman, had blue eyes to lose yourself in and broad shoulders strong enough to carry any burden.
Out of mobile phone range for most of the trip, we pulled into Campbelltown for a sunny afternoon pit-stop to find out that Obama had just won the election. Everyone rejoiced: Americans, Aussies, Brits, Danes, and a Canadian. It just seemed so fitting to hear the news in such a beautiful place; back in the van, I sang Neil Young to myself, “Keep on rocking in the free world!”
We stayed at Launceston Backpackers on our final night and I have to declare it as the nicest hostel I’ve ever stayed in (although I guess that may not mean much considering that my first-ever hostel stay was in September). The place was spacious, extremely clean and very cozy: we lounged in the dining area, made amazing meals in the spotless, restaurant-grade kitchen and got cozy by the fire in the TV room to watch Harry Potter before bedtime.
I was the last one to leave Launny and spent my last few hours wandering the around the waterfront and arts precinct. I found the City Park and giggled over the Macaque monkeys who live and play there. The city reminded a bit me of Charlottetown: small with beautiful historic buildings, bustling on a Saturday but empty on a Wednesday night in early spring. Before leaving, I wrote a few postcards to the people whose addresses I know by heart (maybe you’ll get one in your mailbox soon?).
For me, Tasmania was a place of solace, reflection and health. Perhaps I should have spent the study week between classes and exams holed up in the library? Never! Tassie made my heart sing like in the Sound of Music: “I go to the hills when my heart is lonely…” If you ever get a chance, don’t hesitate to discover Tasmania and your own natural state.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Mermaid off the port bow
Yarr, salty dawgs! I survived the weekend of sailing off the coast of Hervey Bay and Fraser Island…despite the best efforts of a couple of Australian bogans, some tiger sharks and a vexatious sandbar. Ahoy and amen to that.
Our band of degenerates descended on Hervey Bay on the morning of Halloween. The weather was hardly spooky: sunny and 30 degrees Celsius. We came from all corners: Nathan and Eva from Sydney, Rachel detoured via Brisbane, Matt from the hot underbelly of inner Queensland, Basil from Canberra, and yours truly from marvelous Melbourne. The boys had done most of the shopping for food and drink: the result was an ungodly amount of beer and raw meat. Thankfully, Eva tagged along on the shopping trip to throw in a few fruits and vegetables and some red wine. After all, sailors have to be sure to ward off scurvy.
We motored out of the marina on the Boomerang and it wasn’t long before the first Corona was cracked, amidst jokes that this boomerang might never come back. From that point, it was just six friends on the water with sun, sandy beaches and smiles. Once we dropped anchor on that first night, we all jumped into the clear blue water and you would not believe how warm it was! We watched the sunset from the side of the boat and then fired up the barbie for steaks. Rachel, whose culinary skills may be notorious to my blog-readers by now, made an amazing salad of rockette, cherry tomatoes, toasted pine nuts and shaved parmesan.
I rose with the sun the next morning and jumped in the water first thing. After yet another gourmet meal (Rach and Eva made an amazing omelette with bacon, sausage, toast and fresh fruit on the side), we hauled anchor, hoisted the sails and soon, we were sailing off into paradise. Tacking was my favourite part – Captain Nathan (whom Basil referred to as Captain Fabio, or just Fabs) would call the order to tack and us girls would loosen ropes or haul with all our might. I’m not sure what the other boys were doing while we tacked…but it most likely involved consuming beer. In the great Australian tradition of nicknaming your friends, Nathan called to Colesy (Matt) and Flynny (Basil) to hoist different sails or get another beer.
Around midday, we took the tender onto a deserted strip of beautiful white beach on Fraser Island. The boys immediately started throwing the footy around and I took the opportunity to run down the beach, strip naked and frolic in the sand and water. Rachel and Eva followed, a bit more timidly than me, but eventually we were all nude, our tan lines fading while we chatted on the sand and then jumped into the sea to cool off when it got too hot. Up the beach, we could just make out that the boys had followed suit – except they kept to the water and had their boardies tied around their heads lest one of the others steal their togs. Back on the boat, we spotted a dingo running down the beach where we had just been.
Later that night, I was the last one out on deck after sunset, savoring the last moments of daylight and the dregs of my red wine. I was just about to go down to the galley to help with dinner when I saw something jump out of the water with a splash. “Whales off the port bow!” I called. Or what is dolphins…or tiger sharks? Whatever it was, it slowly circled out boat, jumping out of the water and showing off for us before swimming off toward the fading daylight. It was a magical ending to a beautiful day.
Things got a little more hairy the next day when Nathan decided that the GPS must be wrong and steered us directly onto a sandbar. Rachel jumped off the boat to find herself only chest-deep in water. What ensued was the classic male/female argument about what to do next. The boys had all kinds of crazy “solutions”, including “just gunning the engine” or using the tender as a tug boat. Eva’s suggestion to tack the sails and let the wind take us back into deep water went ignored for several hours until the boys resorted to this option. Within minutes, it was smooth sailing again.
On our last day of sailing, we alighted again on Fraser to wander the sand and lounge in the cool fresh water creeks that run into the ocean. On the boat, Rachel performed culinary magic yet again, producing a pitcher of excellent sangria and nachos smothered in beans, meat, salsa and cheese. We were all pretty exhausted on the final eve, given the drama of the day and the dance party we held in the galley the night before. We traded stories and laughed on deck, polishing off the last of the beer.
Before we knew it, our three nights at sea were over and we were motoring back into the marina at Hervey Bay on a scorching November morning. After a final gourmet brekky and hugs all around, I hauled my pack onto my back and staggered my sea legs up the marina to catch a taxi to the airport. After a hop, skip and few connecting flights, more adventure was in store for me in the wilds of Tasmania. More stories from the road to follow soon…lots of love to everybody back home.
Our band of degenerates descended on Hervey Bay on the morning of Halloween. The weather was hardly spooky: sunny and 30 degrees Celsius. We came from all corners: Nathan and Eva from Sydney, Rachel detoured via Brisbane, Matt from the hot underbelly of inner Queensland, Basil from Canberra, and yours truly from marvelous Melbourne. The boys had done most of the shopping for food and drink: the result was an ungodly amount of beer and raw meat. Thankfully, Eva tagged along on the shopping trip to throw in a few fruits and vegetables and some red wine. After all, sailors have to be sure to ward off scurvy.
We motored out of the marina on the Boomerang and it wasn’t long before the first Corona was cracked, amidst jokes that this boomerang might never come back. From that point, it was just six friends on the water with sun, sandy beaches and smiles. Once we dropped anchor on that first night, we all jumped into the clear blue water and you would not believe how warm it was! We watched the sunset from the side of the boat and then fired up the barbie for steaks. Rachel, whose culinary skills may be notorious to my blog-readers by now, made an amazing salad of rockette, cherry tomatoes, toasted pine nuts and shaved parmesan.
I rose with the sun the next morning and jumped in the water first thing. After yet another gourmet meal (Rach and Eva made an amazing omelette with bacon, sausage, toast and fresh fruit on the side), we hauled anchor, hoisted the sails and soon, we were sailing off into paradise. Tacking was my favourite part – Captain Nathan (whom Basil referred to as Captain Fabio, or just Fabs) would call the order to tack and us girls would loosen ropes or haul with all our might. I’m not sure what the other boys were doing while we tacked…but it most likely involved consuming beer. In the great Australian tradition of nicknaming your friends, Nathan called to Colesy (Matt) and Flynny (Basil) to hoist different sails or get another beer.
Around midday, we took the tender onto a deserted strip of beautiful white beach on Fraser Island. The boys immediately started throwing the footy around and I took the opportunity to run down the beach, strip naked and frolic in the sand and water. Rachel and Eva followed, a bit more timidly than me, but eventually we were all nude, our tan lines fading while we chatted on the sand and then jumped into the sea to cool off when it got too hot. Up the beach, we could just make out that the boys had followed suit – except they kept to the water and had their boardies tied around their heads lest one of the others steal their togs. Back on the boat, we spotted a dingo running down the beach where we had just been.
Later that night, I was the last one out on deck after sunset, savoring the last moments of daylight and the dregs of my red wine. I was just about to go down to the galley to help with dinner when I saw something jump out of the water with a splash. “Whales off the port bow!” I called. Or what is dolphins…or tiger sharks? Whatever it was, it slowly circled out boat, jumping out of the water and showing off for us before swimming off toward the fading daylight. It was a magical ending to a beautiful day.
Things got a little more hairy the next day when Nathan decided that the GPS must be wrong and steered us directly onto a sandbar. Rachel jumped off the boat to find herself only chest-deep in water. What ensued was the classic male/female argument about what to do next. The boys had all kinds of crazy “solutions”, including “just gunning the engine” or using the tender as a tug boat. Eva’s suggestion to tack the sails and let the wind take us back into deep water went ignored for several hours until the boys resorted to this option. Within minutes, it was smooth sailing again.
On our last day of sailing, we alighted again on Fraser to wander the sand and lounge in the cool fresh water creeks that run into the ocean. On the boat, Rachel performed culinary magic yet again, producing a pitcher of excellent sangria and nachos smothered in beans, meat, salsa and cheese. We were all pretty exhausted on the final eve, given the drama of the day and the dance party we held in the galley the night before. We traded stories and laughed on deck, polishing off the last of the beer.
Before we knew it, our three nights at sea were over and we were motoring back into the marina at Hervey Bay on a scorching November morning. After a final gourmet brekky and hugs all around, I hauled my pack onto my back and staggered my sea legs up the marina to catch a taxi to the airport. After a hop, skip and few connecting flights, more adventure was in store for me in the wilds of Tasmania. More stories from the road to follow soon…lots of love to everybody back home.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Comings and goings
Guess what? Today, I finished my last class of law school. Can you believe it? The reality of it hasn’t set in yet…in a few weeks, I will officially be finished of this crazy little degree. Given that it is end of semester, I’ve been spending a lot of time in the library. It has been occasionally painful to spend a sunny, 29-degree Saturday in the library but my hard work will all pay off very soon.
Spring brings many delights in Melbourne, including visitors. It seems that all the people I met in Byron Bay have shown up on my doorstep in the past little while. Suzanne and Almuth, the German girls who taught me that a mullet is a vokuhila in German, were in Melbourne for a few days and we spent a giggly afternoon together. I showed them around campus, including the fancy modern law school and the older buildings of upper campus. In particular, the quad near south lawn is interesting because it sparked the movement for the 8-hour-day. The story goes that the stonemasons who worked on that building would get tired after eight hours of work. After all, cutting and lifting stone is a hard work! So the masons demanded an eight-hour workday. In downtown Melbourne, there is a statue with 888 written on it to commemorate this trend: eight hours of work, eight hours and leisure and eight hours of rest. Suzanne and Almuth were on their way to New Zealand but before they left we shared ice cream, looked at each other’s photos, talked about boys and just giggled a lot.
My next visitor was Duke, whom I also met in Byron Bay: he had the top bunk and I had the bottom in our four-bed dorm. Duke was also in Melbs on his way to New Zealand and showed up on a borrowed bike. He has this amazing ability to float through his travels without paying for anything: free places to stay, free food, borrowed bikes and surf boards, etc. It doesn’t hurt that he looks like a classic California surfer dude: tall with long blond hair and model looks. During Duke’s visit, I took some much-needed time off from studying in the library and we wandered around Victoria Market before going to Brighton Beach with Channie and Matt. While Matt and I lounged on our beach blankets, Duke took it upon himself to teach Channie some basic rugby skills: throwing, passing, and tackling.
Channie, my Korean girlfriend, is such a nice friend. We’ve been running into each other on campus by accident a lot lately. She’s the kind of friend that I can text to say, “Meet me at our spot on South Lawn in 15 minutes,” and she’ll be there. Sometimes we just have a few minutes between classes but we’ll eat an apple together, hug and go off in our separate directions. I feel very lucky to have found her! Last week, Channie planned a little outing for us to Fitzroy Gardens, where James Cook’s cottage has been reconstructed (FYI: Cook is that dude who “discovered” Australia and planted the flag to claim this massive island for Britain). All the world maps of Cook’s adventures have Australia at the center of them instead of Europe, which I found interesting. People here don’t think of Oz as a strange land at the bottom of the world: this is the center of the world. After touring the tiny house, we wandered through the lovely herb gardens and then out into Fitzroy Gardens proper, which reminds me of a mini-Central Park: a lush oasis in the middle of downtown with skyscrapers in the distance.
I celebrated the last week of school by going to see Xavier Rudd in concert last night (he’s a Melbourne native, after all) and popping into the beer festival at Federation Square this evening. Good times. Now that classes are over, we have a week off before exams begin and I’ve decided to use my time wisely: I’m flying to Hervey Bay tomorrow to spend the night sailing around Fraser Island with the Sydney crew, Eva, Rachel, Nathan and two of his mates. Then I’m headed to Tasmania for the rest of the week. I’m sure it will all be very “educational.”
This week, I felt my first pang of homesickness since I’ve been in Australia. I’m sure it is stress-related - too much time studying! But I just want y’all to know that I’m thinking of you. You are in my heart and I’m hoping that you’re keeping the homefires burning for me too. Lots of love and more news to come from the road!
Spring brings many delights in Melbourne, including visitors. It seems that all the people I met in Byron Bay have shown up on my doorstep in the past little while. Suzanne and Almuth, the German girls who taught me that a mullet is a vokuhila in German, were in Melbourne for a few days and we spent a giggly afternoon together. I showed them around campus, including the fancy modern law school and the older buildings of upper campus. In particular, the quad near south lawn is interesting because it sparked the movement for the 8-hour-day. The story goes that the stonemasons who worked on that building would get tired after eight hours of work. After all, cutting and lifting stone is a hard work! So the masons demanded an eight-hour workday. In downtown Melbourne, there is a statue with 888 written on it to commemorate this trend: eight hours of work, eight hours and leisure and eight hours of rest. Suzanne and Almuth were on their way to New Zealand but before they left we shared ice cream, looked at each other’s photos, talked about boys and just giggled a lot.
My next visitor was Duke, whom I also met in Byron Bay: he had the top bunk and I had the bottom in our four-bed dorm. Duke was also in Melbs on his way to New Zealand and showed up on a borrowed bike. He has this amazing ability to float through his travels without paying for anything: free places to stay, free food, borrowed bikes and surf boards, etc. It doesn’t hurt that he looks like a classic California surfer dude: tall with long blond hair and model looks. During Duke’s visit, I took some much-needed time off from studying in the library and we wandered around Victoria Market before going to Brighton Beach with Channie and Matt. While Matt and I lounged on our beach blankets, Duke took it upon himself to teach Channie some basic rugby skills: throwing, passing, and tackling.
Channie, my Korean girlfriend, is such a nice friend. We’ve been running into each other on campus by accident a lot lately. She’s the kind of friend that I can text to say, “Meet me at our spot on South Lawn in 15 minutes,” and she’ll be there. Sometimes we just have a few minutes between classes but we’ll eat an apple together, hug and go off in our separate directions. I feel very lucky to have found her! Last week, Channie planned a little outing for us to Fitzroy Gardens, where James Cook’s cottage has been reconstructed (FYI: Cook is that dude who “discovered” Australia and planted the flag to claim this massive island for Britain). All the world maps of Cook’s adventures have Australia at the center of them instead of Europe, which I found interesting. People here don’t think of Oz as a strange land at the bottom of the world: this is the center of the world. After touring the tiny house, we wandered through the lovely herb gardens and then out into Fitzroy Gardens proper, which reminds me of a mini-Central Park: a lush oasis in the middle of downtown with skyscrapers in the distance.
I celebrated the last week of school by going to see Xavier Rudd in concert last night (he’s a Melbourne native, after all) and popping into the beer festival at Federation Square this evening. Good times. Now that classes are over, we have a week off before exams begin and I’ve decided to use my time wisely: I’m flying to Hervey Bay tomorrow to spend the night sailing around Fraser Island with the Sydney crew, Eva, Rachel, Nathan and two of his mates. Then I’m headed to Tasmania for the rest of the week. I’m sure it will all be very “educational.”
This week, I felt my first pang of homesickness since I’ve been in Australia. I’m sure it is stress-related - too much time studying! But I just want y’all to know that I’m thinking of you. You are in my heart and I’m hoping that you’re keeping the homefires burning for me too. Lots of love and more news to come from the road!
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Back to basics in Melbs
Well, I finally made it back to Melbourne. It has been nice to come “home” to the familiar faces, sights and sounds. On my first day back, I took pleasure in wandering my neighbourhood to admire the spring foliage and sweet smell of blossoms. It comforted me to go to crowded Victoria Market and hear the stall-keepers shouting their wares, “Mushrooms! Six dollars! Fresh mushrooms only six dollars a kilo! Get your mushrooms here!” Back at school, my community in law, around campus and at Graduate House greeted me with a hero’s welcome – I felt like an old friend who was dearly missed.
Ever since I arrived in July, people kept telling me, “Oh, just wait until the summer – it is amazing.” Back then, it was hard to imagine what they were talking about. Just as in Canada, it is hard to imagine the lushness of summer when the weather is cold and dreary and all the trees are naked of leaves, looking like gnarled claws reaching for the sky. But then, unexpectedly, comes the vigour and promise of spring. On campus, stately rows of trees have burst forth with fresh green leaves, creating a canopy over walkways to shield us from the hot sun. On a warm Saturday night, Swanston Street downtown is full of crowds, all in skimpy dresses and short sleeves, wandering ever so much more slowly, languidly, enjoying the night. Then, the first Sunday at the beach in Brighton: it was so hot that the water felt refreshing even though it was the temperature of freshly melted icebergs. The Melbournians were right: this new season is amazing and you have to actually experience it to understand how lovely it is.
I’ve spent more time recently with real Australians, as opposed to other exchange students. Ramiz, a Melbournian who I met through a co-worker in Montreal, took me to Prahran for an afternoon of sangria and people-watching from a terrace in Chapel Street. Prahran is despised in some circles as being too fancy-schmancy but I thought it was interesting: the people all have interesting outfits, from grunge to fashionista, and the window shopping is to die for. You could spend a lot of money in Prahran but I wisely kept my wallet tucked away in my bag and enjoyed the pleasures of the neighbourhood without actually consuming them. Mid-way through our sangria, some mates of Ramiz’s passed by after their 9-to-5. They are a secret couple by office romance: co-workers by day and lovers by night. We all went for lovely evening of Thai food with BYO white wine.
At the dinner, I was reminded that Australian humour is very much based on “piss-taking” or teasing of other people. It seems the Aussies like to show that they care by “taking the piss” out of their mates or family. In particular, I’ve noticed this between couples when the boyfriend mercilessly teases the girlfriend, perhaps taking the jokes a bit too far but then saying that it is all in the name of fun. It amazes me that these women put up with it! I wrote in an earlier blog about Nick, the Australian sailor who loved Canadian women. He admired the Canuck ladies for their ability to be feminine feminists, that is, asserting their rights and not taking shit while still being lovely attractive women. I like to think that Nick’s description suits us Canadian women. And I guess my father can rest assured that I won’t be getting married to some piss-taking Aussie bloke and settling down here. I prefer my men a little sweeter!
Then, last Friday, I introduced the Texans to Steve, another Melbournian that I met through friends in Montreal. We sipped iced green tea and dined on Indian food in the early evening. When Matt and Kelly retired early (they had a camping trip the next day), Steve and I ventured to Brunswick Street and had a few excellent drinks at Polly, a cocktail bar. The place was opulently decorated with red velvet walls, chandeliers and low lighting. Steve observed that it was like being inside a vulva…whatever that means. The drinks list was enormous – about 50 specialty cocktails alongside all the other sundry beers, wines and mixed drinks. First, a round of mojitos: mine was pomegranate and Steve’s was mandarin orange. Later, I had a cocktail of gin, grapefruit and cherries while Steve indulgence in a Freudian Sip: absinthe and green apple with lemon and sugar. We continued down Brunswick and came upon an improptu gathering: a five-piece band was set up on the corner and jamming out some very groovy music. A crowd of mostly young men had assembled, spilling out onto the street, and they were all dancing like mad. I’ve never seen men, especially 20-somethings, dance like they do in Melbourne: this was no cool-duded swaying back and forth. It was all-out, footloose, hands-in-the-air, eyes-closed dancing. I like to call it the Melbourne Shuffle (although that is actually a dance – and not the one I’m describing here). To me, the Melbourne Shuffle is when a hot guy just goes wild on the dancefloor, not caring what anyone else thinks. Unfortunately, people did care when the cops turned up to break up the unauthorized street party. Steve and I moved on and soon called it a night, parting to go our separate ways.
I have many more Melbourne stories so stay tuned. In the meantime, I have to get to the library…final exams are coming up!
Ever since I arrived in July, people kept telling me, “Oh, just wait until the summer – it is amazing.” Back then, it was hard to imagine what they were talking about. Just as in Canada, it is hard to imagine the lushness of summer when the weather is cold and dreary and all the trees are naked of leaves, looking like gnarled claws reaching for the sky. But then, unexpectedly, comes the vigour and promise of spring. On campus, stately rows of trees have burst forth with fresh green leaves, creating a canopy over walkways to shield us from the hot sun. On a warm Saturday night, Swanston Street downtown is full of crowds, all in skimpy dresses and short sleeves, wandering ever so much more slowly, languidly, enjoying the night. Then, the first Sunday at the beach in Brighton: it was so hot that the water felt refreshing even though it was the temperature of freshly melted icebergs. The Melbournians were right: this new season is amazing and you have to actually experience it to understand how lovely it is.
I’ve spent more time recently with real Australians, as opposed to other exchange students. Ramiz, a Melbournian who I met through a co-worker in Montreal, took me to Prahran for an afternoon of sangria and people-watching from a terrace in Chapel Street. Prahran is despised in some circles as being too fancy-schmancy but I thought it was interesting: the people all have interesting outfits, from grunge to fashionista, and the window shopping is to die for. You could spend a lot of money in Prahran but I wisely kept my wallet tucked away in my bag and enjoyed the pleasures of the neighbourhood without actually consuming them. Mid-way through our sangria, some mates of Ramiz’s passed by after their 9-to-5. They are a secret couple by office romance: co-workers by day and lovers by night. We all went for lovely evening of Thai food with BYO white wine.
At the dinner, I was reminded that Australian humour is very much based on “piss-taking” or teasing of other people. It seems the Aussies like to show that they care by “taking the piss” out of their mates or family. In particular, I’ve noticed this between couples when the boyfriend mercilessly teases the girlfriend, perhaps taking the jokes a bit too far but then saying that it is all in the name of fun. It amazes me that these women put up with it! I wrote in an earlier blog about Nick, the Australian sailor who loved Canadian women. He admired the Canuck ladies for their ability to be feminine feminists, that is, asserting their rights and not taking shit while still being lovely attractive women. I like to think that Nick’s description suits us Canadian women. And I guess my father can rest assured that I won’t be getting married to some piss-taking Aussie bloke and settling down here. I prefer my men a little sweeter!
Then, last Friday, I introduced the Texans to Steve, another Melbournian that I met through friends in Montreal. We sipped iced green tea and dined on Indian food in the early evening. When Matt and Kelly retired early (they had a camping trip the next day), Steve and I ventured to Brunswick Street and had a few excellent drinks at Polly, a cocktail bar. The place was opulently decorated with red velvet walls, chandeliers and low lighting. Steve observed that it was like being inside a vulva…whatever that means. The drinks list was enormous – about 50 specialty cocktails alongside all the other sundry beers, wines and mixed drinks. First, a round of mojitos: mine was pomegranate and Steve’s was mandarin orange. Later, I had a cocktail of gin, grapefruit and cherries while Steve indulgence in a Freudian Sip: absinthe and green apple with lemon and sugar. We continued down Brunswick and came upon an improptu gathering: a five-piece band was set up on the corner and jamming out some very groovy music. A crowd of mostly young men had assembled, spilling out onto the street, and they were all dancing like mad. I’ve never seen men, especially 20-somethings, dance like they do in Melbourne: this was no cool-duded swaying back and forth. It was all-out, footloose, hands-in-the-air, eyes-closed dancing. I like to call it the Melbourne Shuffle (although that is actually a dance – and not the one I’m describing here). To me, the Melbourne Shuffle is when a hot guy just goes wild on the dancefloor, not caring what anyone else thinks. Unfortunately, people did care when the cops turned up to break up the unauthorized street party. Steve and I moved on and soon called it a night, parting to go our separate ways.
I have many more Melbourne stories so stay tuned. In the meantime, I have to get to the library…final exams are coming up!
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Enjoy Coogee – it’s the real thing
The last stop on my east coast odyssey was, of course, Sydney. I cruised into Coogee on a Saturday afternoon…and I didn’t leave the neighborhood for about five days. I guess I just needed to sit down and rest someplace after two weeks of being on the road. My inability to move from Coogee turned my two-week spring break into a three-week vacation. I figured I wouldn’t have done any schoolwork in Melbourne anyway. So I followed a strict regime: sleeping in, puttering around the house, beaching in the afternoon and then socializing in the evening.
The neighbourhood of Coogee is mostly quiet residential streets with a few bustling main boulevards. Coogee Bay Road has everything you could want: lots of great restaurants, groceries stores and bottle shops, as well as the requisite beachwear stores. The road runs down a hill and finishes gloriously at the beach. Eva, Rachel and Noah all live within a five-block radius of each other in Coogee so I beat a well-worn path between their doors. Noah hosted a dinner party for the Fraser Island group and we dined on his excellent chili con carne while enjoying a slideshow of our photos from the trip. In addition to this, Noah spent most of the week as I did – I would come upon him napping on the beach or working on his tan.
I spent much of the week in the company of Nathan, Eva’s roommate and your stereotypical Australian male: he is a firefighter by profession, a volunteer lifeguard and a sports-mad jock. He would always be scooting out for a quick game of footy or a run around the neighborhood. The Rugby League Grand Final was on one day and Nathan invited me to the neighbor’s footy party. It was the Aussie equivalent of the Super Bowl or the Grey Cup: friends gathered around the television with copious amounts of beer and fabulous munchies. After Manly, a suburb of Sydney, killed the Melbourne team 40-0, our host Glen fired up the barbie and we had an epic feast. I felt lucky to get this glimpse into Aussie culture.
I also enjoyed the opportunity to nest a little at Eva’s place. While I have enjoyed my lack of domestic responsibilities in Melbourne, I do sometimes miss getting cozy at home with cooking and cleaning. Yes, I realize that that sounds kind of pathetic – just blame my Ukrainian heritage! The urge to clean is almost as strong as the urge to shop. And once you start, you just can’t stop. So Eva declared me the best houseguest ever after I washed the dishes, swept the floor, did four loads of her laundry and cooked everyone a lovely supper: chickpea curry wraps, roast chicken and red cabbage coleslaw with tomatoes and fresh mozarella.
It was Rachel’s birthday on Thursday and we celebrated Sydney-style by buying a bottle of pink bubbly at the Coogee Bay Hotel and proceeding to the beach to drink it in our bikinis. Rachel said that it was her most memorable birthday yet. Usually, she spends it eating pumpkin pie or driving across Southern Ontario for the family Thanksgiving party. I was becoming a serious beach bum and was thrilled to help get her birthday started properly. After some disco naps, we all got dolled up and went to a Mexican restaurant in Darlinghurst followed by salsa dancing in King’s Wharf of Darling Harbour. Yes, that was the only time that I left Coogee during my visit.
Many Melbournites hate Sydney, just as Montrealers hate Toronto. I’ve always enjoyed my visits to Toronto because I stay with family or friends and live like a local. I must say that I love Sydney, perhaps because of my neighborhood experience just hanging around Coogee. One shop on the Coogee Bay Road has a tee-shirt with what looks like the Coca-cola logo on it…except it says Enjoy Coogee – it’s the real thing. And there ain’t nothing like the real thing, baby.
The neighbourhood of Coogee is mostly quiet residential streets with a few bustling main boulevards. Coogee Bay Road has everything you could want: lots of great restaurants, groceries stores and bottle shops, as well as the requisite beachwear stores. The road runs down a hill and finishes gloriously at the beach. Eva, Rachel and Noah all live within a five-block radius of each other in Coogee so I beat a well-worn path between their doors. Noah hosted a dinner party for the Fraser Island group and we dined on his excellent chili con carne while enjoying a slideshow of our photos from the trip. In addition to this, Noah spent most of the week as I did – I would come upon him napping on the beach or working on his tan.
I spent much of the week in the company of Nathan, Eva’s roommate and your stereotypical Australian male: he is a firefighter by profession, a volunteer lifeguard and a sports-mad jock. He would always be scooting out for a quick game of footy or a run around the neighborhood. The Rugby League Grand Final was on one day and Nathan invited me to the neighbor’s footy party. It was the Aussie equivalent of the Super Bowl or the Grey Cup: friends gathered around the television with copious amounts of beer and fabulous munchies. After Manly, a suburb of Sydney, killed the Melbourne team 40-0, our host Glen fired up the barbie and we had an epic feast. I felt lucky to get this glimpse into Aussie culture.
I also enjoyed the opportunity to nest a little at Eva’s place. While I have enjoyed my lack of domestic responsibilities in Melbourne, I do sometimes miss getting cozy at home with cooking and cleaning. Yes, I realize that that sounds kind of pathetic – just blame my Ukrainian heritage! The urge to clean is almost as strong as the urge to shop. And once you start, you just can’t stop. So Eva declared me the best houseguest ever after I washed the dishes, swept the floor, did four loads of her laundry and cooked everyone a lovely supper: chickpea curry wraps, roast chicken and red cabbage coleslaw with tomatoes and fresh mozarella.
It was Rachel’s birthday on Thursday and we celebrated Sydney-style by buying a bottle of pink bubbly at the Coogee Bay Hotel and proceeding to the beach to drink it in our bikinis. Rachel said that it was her most memorable birthday yet. Usually, she spends it eating pumpkin pie or driving across Southern Ontario for the family Thanksgiving party. I was becoming a serious beach bum and was thrilled to help get her birthday started properly. After some disco naps, we all got dolled up and went to a Mexican restaurant in Darlinghurst followed by salsa dancing in King’s Wharf of Darling Harbour. Yes, that was the only time that I left Coogee during my visit.
Many Melbournites hate Sydney, just as Montrealers hate Toronto. I’ve always enjoyed my visits to Toronto because I stay with family or friends and live like a local. I must say that I love Sydney, perhaps because of my neighborhood experience just hanging around Coogee. One shop on the Coogee Bay Road has a tee-shirt with what looks like the Coca-cola logo on it…except it says Enjoy Coogee – it’s the real thing. And there ain’t nothing like the real thing, baby.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The bounty of Byron Shire
The Lonely Planet guide refers to Byron Bay as “the promised land – God’s own earth.” I have to say that those travel writers are correct! I took the Greyhound by day from Hervey Bay to Byron, stopping briefly in Brisbane. It was likely my nicest experience riding the dog; while at previous meal break stops we could only buy fried foods and cola, the stops on the way to Byron provided us with chicken caesar wraps, gourmet coffee and a strawberry stand in the parking lot. Having spent most of my last night in Hervey Bay in the company of a blond Brit and a bottle of gin, I napped for most of the journey but miraculously woke at the perfect moment to see the sign that read, “Welcome to Byron Shire.” I had arrived in God’s country, full of lush countryside and ocean views.
Once in Byron Bay, I stepped off the bus to find Jordan, my brother’s best mate from PEI, waiting for me with a big smile on his face. He looked tanned and relaxed. Jordan works at a very nice hostel called Holiday Village and he took me under his wing, driving me around town on a little welcome tour and then ensconcing me in a lovely four-bed apartment dorm with nice roommates. In the opposite bunk were Paz and Multhi, two beautiful and groovy Spanish women who work in Brisbane and Sydney, respectively, but were in Byron for a week’s holiday. My bunk-mate was Duke, a blond Californian surfer dude with model looks and an easy-going attitude.
Since our apartment dorm had a kitchen, I decided that I should get some groceries and cook instead of eating out. Browsing through Woolworth’s grocery at six o’clock on a Wednesday evening, I got excellent introduction to the population of Byron. If the mullet was the hairstyle in Hervey Bay then dreadlocks were definitely it in Byron. I could barely concentrate on what kind of tea to buy because all these barefoot and shirtless hippie surfer dudes kept walking by, picking up green tea and other organic infusions. After only a few days in Byron Shire, I would be contemplating replacing all the black in my wardrobe with flowered skirts and tie-dyed shirts.
That night, I met up with Kelly again and met her mother, who was visiting from Texas. We went for vegetarian indian food and Kelly’s mum, after asking what pakoras and paneer were, said, “How do y’all know about this foreign food?” I guess Australia just expands a person’s culinary horizons! After dinner, we joined Jordan and his boys at another hostel to catch the end of a didjeridoo rock show. I always love hanging out with my brother’s friends because they inevitably introduce me to scores of other men. The courtyard of the hostel was full of surfers, hippies and backpackers, either sitting at picnic tables or standing around drinking. Jordan was carrying a man-purse, which we all thought was strange until he pulled a bag of goon (cheap wine) and several plastic cups out of it. The goon tasted pretty bad at first…but we soon got used to it. I was a bit concerned that Kelly’s mother would be traumatized by this frat-party of a scene but apparently she loved it! Duke, my bunk-mate, was thrilled to meet two Texan ladies (he told me earlier that he has a soft spot for a woman with a drawl) and entertained Kelly and her mom with colourful stories for quite a long time. Apparently he said “fuck” every second word and Kelly’s mom was delighted to get an unedited glimpse into the backpacker lifestyle.
Later on, the night turned international for me. On the way to Cheeky Monkeys, a popular nightclub in Byron, I discussed the concept of the mullet with two German girls called Susanne and Almuth. They informed me that a mullet is a called a “vokuhila” in German (that’s short for vorn kurz hintern lang – or short in the front, long in the back). Once Jordan swept us into Cheeky’s, skipping the queue and the cover charge because he knows the doormen, I spent much of the night speaking French to a handsome man from Bordeaux who couldn’t speak English and was therefore thrilled to find another French-speaking person. In between such international exchanges, I did the requisite Cheeky’s activity: dancing on the tables. In actual fact, they aren’t so much tables as bleachers or fortified picnic benches. Either way, if you go to Cheeky’s, you simply can’t leave until you have danced on the tables. Late that night, I crept back into the hostel and was the last person in bed.
The next day I decided to take a tour to Nimbin, the pot capital of Australia. On Jim’s Alternative Tour, we were treated to fabulous music in the bus and lots of nice stories from our friendly driver/tour guide. The drive to Nimbin took about an hour during which we passed vast rows of macadamia nut trees, funky houses and lush pasture full of happy cows. Halfway to Nimbin, Jim stopped the bus at the country pub in Eltham. “There is a law,” he said, “which says that you can drink on a bus if the bus driver says it alright. And I say you can drink in the bus.” It was only 11:00am but I thought, why not? This tendency to drink before midday would come back to haunt me later in Byron but on that clear Thursday morning it was just lovely to drink a beer in the sunshine outside the pub and crack a few macadamia nuts that the barman had graciously laid out for us. Some people were serious about their drinking and they got six-packs for the road.
The town of Nimbin is kind of a weird place. Don’t get me wrong – I love hippies and hippiedom (after all, I grew up in Hippieville, PEI). But this place just took it to a crazy level. It reeked of incense everywhere I went and all available surfaces had been painted with flowers or some groovy quote, like “Follow Your Bliss.” Marijuana isn’t actually legal in Nimbin but the police overlook the selling and smoking of pot in the town. Perhaps it was this glimpse into the world of drug deals that gave me a weird feeling about Nimbin. However, the “industry” of Nimbin did mean that the consumer economy was strong. I stocked up on tea tree shampoo and journals, had an excellent strawberry smoothie and toured some lovely art galleries. For the rest of the day, Jim took us on a magical bus tour through the Nightcap National Park. He has been doing the same tour for 15 years and knows the roads really well. He combined his DJing skills with his knowledge of the landscape and roads to create an amazing sensory rollercoaster experience for the group. The highlight of the day was a stop at the breathtaking Minyon Falls. I scanned the bus on the drive back to Byron and it seemed that most of the other travelers had succumbed to the effects of their pot cookies.
Back in town, my Fraser Island posse showed up and we spent the next days eating, shopping and beaching. When it was too windy on the beach, I lounged with Jordan and his endless parade of handsome friends poolside. We had afternoon drinks at the Rails, a lovely pub in Byron, and were treated to a groovy reggae show at sunset. A couple of Texans fired up the barbecue at the hostel and I almost burned my face off with too many grilled jalapenos peppers, which were filled with sour cream and wrapped in bacon. Unfailingly, every night I ended up at Cheeky Monkeys, inevitably dancing on a table. Jordan tried to go to bed early two nights in a row but once I came round with Rachel, Eva and Georgia, he could never resist just a short visit to Cheeky’s, whisking us all past the bouncers yet again.
Byron was perhaps the hardest place to leave. I wanted to find some gorgeous surfer dude, knight him as Earl of Byron and crown myself as Countess of the Shire, in a costume of flowered skirt, tie-dyed shirt and long flowing hair. Alas, I had to move on…but I know I’ll go back someday soon.
Once in Byron Bay, I stepped off the bus to find Jordan, my brother’s best mate from PEI, waiting for me with a big smile on his face. He looked tanned and relaxed. Jordan works at a very nice hostel called Holiday Village and he took me under his wing, driving me around town on a little welcome tour and then ensconcing me in a lovely four-bed apartment dorm with nice roommates. In the opposite bunk were Paz and Multhi, two beautiful and groovy Spanish women who work in Brisbane and Sydney, respectively, but were in Byron for a week’s holiday. My bunk-mate was Duke, a blond Californian surfer dude with model looks and an easy-going attitude.
Since our apartment dorm had a kitchen, I decided that I should get some groceries and cook instead of eating out. Browsing through Woolworth’s grocery at six o’clock on a Wednesday evening, I got excellent introduction to the population of Byron. If the mullet was the hairstyle in Hervey Bay then dreadlocks were definitely it in Byron. I could barely concentrate on what kind of tea to buy because all these barefoot and shirtless hippie surfer dudes kept walking by, picking up green tea and other organic infusions. After only a few days in Byron Shire, I would be contemplating replacing all the black in my wardrobe with flowered skirts and tie-dyed shirts.
That night, I met up with Kelly again and met her mother, who was visiting from Texas. We went for vegetarian indian food and Kelly’s mum, after asking what pakoras and paneer were, said, “How do y’all know about this foreign food?” I guess Australia just expands a person’s culinary horizons! After dinner, we joined Jordan and his boys at another hostel to catch the end of a didjeridoo rock show. I always love hanging out with my brother’s friends because they inevitably introduce me to scores of other men. The courtyard of the hostel was full of surfers, hippies and backpackers, either sitting at picnic tables or standing around drinking. Jordan was carrying a man-purse, which we all thought was strange until he pulled a bag of goon (cheap wine) and several plastic cups out of it. The goon tasted pretty bad at first…but we soon got used to it. I was a bit concerned that Kelly’s mother would be traumatized by this frat-party of a scene but apparently she loved it! Duke, my bunk-mate, was thrilled to meet two Texan ladies (he told me earlier that he has a soft spot for a woman with a drawl) and entertained Kelly and her mom with colourful stories for quite a long time. Apparently he said “fuck” every second word and Kelly’s mom was delighted to get an unedited glimpse into the backpacker lifestyle.
Later on, the night turned international for me. On the way to Cheeky Monkeys, a popular nightclub in Byron, I discussed the concept of the mullet with two German girls called Susanne and Almuth. They informed me that a mullet is a called a “vokuhila” in German (that’s short for vorn kurz hintern lang – or short in the front, long in the back). Once Jordan swept us into Cheeky’s, skipping the queue and the cover charge because he knows the doormen, I spent much of the night speaking French to a handsome man from Bordeaux who couldn’t speak English and was therefore thrilled to find another French-speaking person. In between such international exchanges, I did the requisite Cheeky’s activity: dancing on the tables. In actual fact, they aren’t so much tables as bleachers or fortified picnic benches. Either way, if you go to Cheeky’s, you simply can’t leave until you have danced on the tables. Late that night, I crept back into the hostel and was the last person in bed.
The next day I decided to take a tour to Nimbin, the pot capital of Australia. On Jim’s Alternative Tour, we were treated to fabulous music in the bus and lots of nice stories from our friendly driver/tour guide. The drive to Nimbin took about an hour during which we passed vast rows of macadamia nut trees, funky houses and lush pasture full of happy cows. Halfway to Nimbin, Jim stopped the bus at the country pub in Eltham. “There is a law,” he said, “which says that you can drink on a bus if the bus driver says it alright. And I say you can drink in the bus.” It was only 11:00am but I thought, why not? This tendency to drink before midday would come back to haunt me later in Byron but on that clear Thursday morning it was just lovely to drink a beer in the sunshine outside the pub and crack a few macadamia nuts that the barman had graciously laid out for us. Some people were serious about their drinking and they got six-packs for the road.
The town of Nimbin is kind of a weird place. Don’t get me wrong – I love hippies and hippiedom (after all, I grew up in Hippieville, PEI). But this place just took it to a crazy level. It reeked of incense everywhere I went and all available surfaces had been painted with flowers or some groovy quote, like “Follow Your Bliss.” Marijuana isn’t actually legal in Nimbin but the police overlook the selling and smoking of pot in the town. Perhaps it was this glimpse into the world of drug deals that gave me a weird feeling about Nimbin. However, the “industry” of Nimbin did mean that the consumer economy was strong. I stocked up on tea tree shampoo and journals, had an excellent strawberry smoothie and toured some lovely art galleries. For the rest of the day, Jim took us on a magical bus tour through the Nightcap National Park. He has been doing the same tour for 15 years and knows the roads really well. He combined his DJing skills with his knowledge of the landscape and roads to create an amazing sensory rollercoaster experience for the group. The highlight of the day was a stop at the breathtaking Minyon Falls. I scanned the bus on the drive back to Byron and it seemed that most of the other travelers had succumbed to the effects of their pot cookies.
Back in town, my Fraser Island posse showed up and we spent the next days eating, shopping and beaching. When it was too windy on the beach, I lounged with Jordan and his endless parade of handsome friends poolside. We had afternoon drinks at the Rails, a lovely pub in Byron, and were treated to a groovy reggae show at sunset. A couple of Texans fired up the barbecue at the hostel and I almost burned my face off with too many grilled jalapenos peppers, which were filled with sour cream and wrapped in bacon. Unfailingly, every night I ended up at Cheeky Monkeys, inevitably dancing on a table. Jordan tried to go to bed early two nights in a row but once I came round with Rachel, Eva and Georgia, he could never resist just a short visit to Cheeky’s, whisking us all past the bouncers yet again.
Byron was perhaps the hardest place to leave. I wanted to find some gorgeous surfer dude, knight him as Earl of Byron and crown myself as Countess of the Shire, in a costume of flowered skirt, tie-dyed shirt and long flowing hair. Alas, I had to move on…but I know I’ll go back someday soon.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Into the land of sand...
My second night bus experience from Airlie Beach to Hervey Bay was better than the first because Kelly was with me. We chatted and reminisced about our Whitsunday adventure until we fell asleep. At 6am, I got off in Hervey Bay and Kelly continued on to Noosa Heads and then to Brisbane to meet her mother. Once in Hervey Bay, I was pretty bewildered for the rest of the day: I took about 4 naps, waking only to eat and go to the beach. Late in the day, the Sydney posse joined me at the hostel and the fun began!
Hervey Bay is a bit of a bogan town (that's what they call hicks or country people in Australia) where the predominant hairstyle is the mullet. Not much happens around town; apart from the mullet-bearing locals, many backpackers wander the main streets provisioning themselves for their next adventure. Hervey Bay is the jumping-off point for Fraser Island, the largest sand island in the world. After I met up with my group, we got groceries, checked the tents, sampled the local pub food and mullet-filled dance floor. We left for Fraser Island early the next morning, piling into the back of a big 4x4 jeep. A pleasant 30-minute barge ride got us onto the Island. We quickly learned that driving on Fraser is not for the faint of heart - on our first day on the inland tracks we had to push the jeep out of the sand three or four times. At one point, we got stuck in a rut at a very precarious angle and someone yelled "Everybody out before we tip over!" Panicked, we all jumped out and some of us were literally holding up the jeep while others dug us out of the sand and conferred over how to save us from our calamity. Luckily, we got out unscathed and were able to laugh about it later.
Now, I'd like to take the time to describe our crew. Eva was the unofficial glue of the group: she got everyone on board and organized the travel bookings, etc. She's the kind of girl who wakes you at 6am by dancing and singing show tunes outside your tent...and yet, you still love her. Rachel, a feisty girl from Ontario, was our head chef and the second driver. Noah is a fellow Montrealer and the most laid-back and tanned surfer dude you'll ever meet. He was the darling of Montreal recruitment this past winter and after seeing him in Australia it is hard to imagine him suited up and kicking ass in the corporate law world. Then there were Tobias and Dennis, two tall blonde Germans with enough sweetness and humour between them to charm any woman in the world. Georgia is a stylish Italian with a quick wit, sharp tongue and soft heart. She was a sharp flower: beautiful and occasionally prickly. Then there were two French girls, Elodie and Pauline. They didn't say much but they were lovely nonetheless. And last but not least there was Maria, a gorgeous and spritely Colombian who would emerge every morning from her tent looking perfectly groomed, a vision in white, and who would manage to keep her immaculate clothes clean all day. Maria insisted on doing the dishes every night...and no one protested.
Our group worked remarkably well together. We all loved each other's company and could make or break camp in what felt like moments. We'd arrive at our camp site and suddenly a city of tents would pop up while amazing cooking smells began to emerge from near the picnic tables. On the first night, we camped in a proper campsite with a dingo-proof fence. Rachel and I rustled up some hearty fare: steaks, sausages, roast potatoes and carrots, stir-fried veggies and couscous salad. Hmmm...not bad for a camping trip. We plowed through most of our alcohol on the first night and the other camping groups joined us at our picnic table. The next morning, our group was first up and busy, thanks to Eva's song-and-dance routine. We overheard the other 4x4 groups, who dined on sandwiches and cereal, saying, "They're having scrambled eggs with feta cheese for breakfast?! How do they get up so early?"
On Day 2 of Fraser, we made our way to the East Beach, which is a highway at low tide, full of 4x4 vehicles and even some planes landing. Up at Indian Head, we saw dolphins, whales and sea turtles all within 20 minutes. Later, at Eli Creek, we waded to the head of the spring where the island's filtered fresh water begins to make its way to the sea. From there, you can just float on the current of cool water until you get to the salt. The water was a perfect oasis on that hot day: you can't swim in the ocean on the east side of Fraser Island because of the tiger sharks and deadly jellyfish. I thought our group looked so gorgeous wading through the creek - I made all the ladies pose with me for a hot bikini shot. That night, we camped on the beach, taking care not to get sand in our gourmet burritos and being careful not to wander off alone lest we encounter a dingo. The other two groups in Koala vans gathered at our cooking spot after dinner. We force-fed them leftover burritos, the goon flowed (boxed wine in Australia), and a German girl pulled out her guitar for a wonderful sing-a-long. We slept well in our tents, cradled by the sand and soothed by the wind and waves crashing on the shore. In the morning, someone spotted dingo tracks around our tent city.
Before leaving Fraser, we had to stop at Lake Wabby, which may be the most beautiful spot in the entire world. We hiked about 15 minutes through rainforest and emerged on an immense dune with a clear fresh water lake at the bottom. Everyone ran down the dune, splashing into the lovely water, and then ran up the dune to do it again and again. With regret, we had to pile back into the jeep and head to the barge landing. Our final meal on Fraser was a gourmet one, of course. We laid out a tarp in the parking lot and Rachel, looking amazing in a cowboy hat, barbecued sausages with fried onions and chicken burgers while I chopped fresh pineapple. Another jeep pulled up and a blond American girl got out whining, "I'm hungry. Do we have any food?" One of her companions paused to look at their supplies and said, "We've got cereal."
Back on the mainland, we all took much-needed showers (I don't know if I've ever been so dirty) and sadly put our shoes back on. I felt so healthy and relaxed. My memories of Fraser will be of a lovely group of friends, all tanned and in the prime of their lives, grooving together. Speaking of groovy...my road trip wasn't over yet. After few hours of sleep, I packed my bag and tiptoed out of the hostel to catch yet another bus. This time, I was bound for Byron Bay. Lots of love to everyone back home!
Hervey Bay is a bit of a bogan town (that's what they call hicks or country people in Australia) where the predominant hairstyle is the mullet. Not much happens around town; apart from the mullet-bearing locals, many backpackers wander the main streets provisioning themselves for their next adventure. Hervey Bay is the jumping-off point for Fraser Island, the largest sand island in the world. After I met up with my group, we got groceries, checked the tents, sampled the local pub food and mullet-filled dance floor. We left for Fraser Island early the next morning, piling into the back of a big 4x4 jeep. A pleasant 30-minute barge ride got us onto the Island. We quickly learned that driving on Fraser is not for the faint of heart - on our first day on the inland tracks we had to push the jeep out of the sand three or four times. At one point, we got stuck in a rut at a very precarious angle and someone yelled "Everybody out before we tip over!" Panicked, we all jumped out and some of us were literally holding up the jeep while others dug us out of the sand and conferred over how to save us from our calamity. Luckily, we got out unscathed and were able to laugh about it later.
Now, I'd like to take the time to describe our crew. Eva was the unofficial glue of the group: she got everyone on board and organized the travel bookings, etc. She's the kind of girl who wakes you at 6am by dancing and singing show tunes outside your tent...and yet, you still love her. Rachel, a feisty girl from Ontario, was our head chef and the second driver. Noah is a fellow Montrealer and the most laid-back and tanned surfer dude you'll ever meet. He was the darling of Montreal recruitment this past winter and after seeing him in Australia it is hard to imagine him suited up and kicking ass in the corporate law world. Then there were Tobias and Dennis, two tall blonde Germans with enough sweetness and humour between them to charm any woman in the world. Georgia is a stylish Italian with a quick wit, sharp tongue and soft heart. She was a sharp flower: beautiful and occasionally prickly. Then there were two French girls, Elodie and Pauline. They didn't say much but they were lovely nonetheless. And last but not least there was Maria, a gorgeous and spritely Colombian who would emerge every morning from her tent looking perfectly groomed, a vision in white, and who would manage to keep her immaculate clothes clean all day. Maria insisted on doing the dishes every night...and no one protested.
Our group worked remarkably well together. We all loved each other's company and could make or break camp in what felt like moments. We'd arrive at our camp site and suddenly a city of tents would pop up while amazing cooking smells began to emerge from near the picnic tables. On the first night, we camped in a proper campsite with a dingo-proof fence. Rachel and I rustled up some hearty fare: steaks, sausages, roast potatoes and carrots, stir-fried veggies and couscous salad. Hmmm...not bad for a camping trip. We plowed through most of our alcohol on the first night and the other camping groups joined us at our picnic table. The next morning, our group was first up and busy, thanks to Eva's song-and-dance routine. We overheard the other 4x4 groups, who dined on sandwiches and cereal, saying, "They're having scrambled eggs with feta cheese for breakfast?! How do they get up so early?"
On Day 2 of Fraser, we made our way to the East Beach, which is a highway at low tide, full of 4x4 vehicles and even some planes landing. Up at Indian Head, we saw dolphins, whales and sea turtles all within 20 minutes. Later, at Eli Creek, we waded to the head of the spring where the island's filtered fresh water begins to make its way to the sea. From there, you can just float on the current of cool water until you get to the salt. The water was a perfect oasis on that hot day: you can't swim in the ocean on the east side of Fraser Island because of the tiger sharks and deadly jellyfish. I thought our group looked so gorgeous wading through the creek - I made all the ladies pose with me for a hot bikini shot. That night, we camped on the beach, taking care not to get sand in our gourmet burritos and being careful not to wander off alone lest we encounter a dingo. The other two groups in Koala vans gathered at our cooking spot after dinner. We force-fed them leftover burritos, the goon flowed (boxed wine in Australia), and a German girl pulled out her guitar for a wonderful sing-a-long. We slept well in our tents, cradled by the sand and soothed by the wind and waves crashing on the shore. In the morning, someone spotted dingo tracks around our tent city.
Before leaving Fraser, we had to stop at Lake Wabby, which may be the most beautiful spot in the entire world. We hiked about 15 minutes through rainforest and emerged on an immense dune with a clear fresh water lake at the bottom. Everyone ran down the dune, splashing into the lovely water, and then ran up the dune to do it again and again. With regret, we had to pile back into the jeep and head to the barge landing. Our final meal on Fraser was a gourmet one, of course. We laid out a tarp in the parking lot and Rachel, looking amazing in a cowboy hat, barbecued sausages with fried onions and chicken burgers while I chopped fresh pineapple. Another jeep pulled up and a blond American girl got out whining, "I'm hungry. Do we have any food?" One of her companions paused to look at their supplies and said, "We've got cereal."
Back on the mainland, we all took much-needed showers (I don't know if I've ever been so dirty) and sadly put our shoes back on. I felt so healthy and relaxed. My memories of Fraser will be of a lovely group of friends, all tanned and in the prime of their lives, grooving together. Speaking of groovy...my road trip wasn't over yet. After few hours of sleep, I packed my bag and tiptoed out of the hostel to catch yet another bus. This time, I was bound for Byron Bay. Lots of love to everyone back home!
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Monday, October 6, 2008
On the road
Leaving Cairns by bus was my first experience on the Greyhound, or “riding the dog,” as the Aussies call it. This Italian dude next to me felt it necessary to take up part my seat with his lolling legs. I was polite at first, but soon was leaned right back into his territory and fell asleep. The night bus is a weird vortex of broken sleep, 3am meal breaks at truck stops and various fumbled attempts to call home. But then, just when I thought the trip would never end, the sun peaked over the horizon and I was gloriously released into a new time and place.
That new place was Airlie Beach, the small town gateway to the Whitsunday Islands. Airlie seems to be just one busy street, with the bus station at one end and my hostel at the other. I quickly saw all the things in between, including many obliging beer gardens, countless shops selling hats, sunnies and beachwear, and (most importantly) the best seafood experience of my life, so far. After spending the day baking and swimming at the Airlie lagoon, I met up with Kelly, one of the Texans, and Andrew from Sydney, who had his dad with him visiting from PEI. We sat outside at the seafood resto: the night was warm, the mojitos flowed and the fish was fresh. Andrew tackled a huge mud crab while the rest of us ate less messy fare like seared tuna steaks, chili-encrusted mackerel and garlic prawn linguine. After dinner and a few pitchers at the beer garden, we walked home late in the hot night comfortable in shorts and tees.
Then, an adventure on the high seas! We joined 16 other people boarding Wings II, a catamaran touring the Whitsundays for three days. What heaven did follow…the first afternoon we spent snorkelling in Blue Pearl Bay at the top end of Hayman Island. When we headed to our anchorage at sunset, we passed the luxury resort on Hayman where the rich and famous play. Watching the light fade over blue ocean and green mountain, I felt just as rich and blessed as Brad and Angie or Tommy Lee.
At the front of the boat, there were big nets to laze in and a large deck to stretch out on. Inside, the cook spoiled us at every meal with hearty stuff like barbecue chicken and steak, lovely salads and garlic bread. We slept in cozy little berths, rocked by the waves. There was a hum of happiness and group affection on the vessel. Our mixed company included a big group of exchange students from University of the Sunshine Coast with lots of crazy Germans guys and gorgeous Danish girls. The rest were Americans, Brits and a few Frenchmen. Our crew of five included a beautiful blonde Swede called Anna, two energetic dive masters Stu and Alicia, Chris the big warm cook, and Nick the hot Aussie skipper. I took a turn steering the boat and Nick confessed his love of Canadian women to me as I directed us toward our destination on the horizon. Remembering my father’s advice to me, I kept my eyes fixed on the horizon and didn’t let myself fall for a sailor man.
On the second day, I rose to watch the sunset as Nick and Stu hauled anchor. After a brisk wake-up sail (or throw-up sail, for some people), we anchored again in a calm bay for breakfast and a glimpse of sea turtles coming up next to the side of the boat for their first breath of the day. More snorkelling and diving was in store for us, as well as a visit to Whitehaven Beach, allegedly one of the top five beaches in the world. Now, you may not believe it but I was the only one to swim at Whitehaven. Do I sense a pattern? Actually, I was the only one who thought to bring a wetsuit. Marine stingers can be a threat in Queensland - they are the kind of jellyfish whose stings can land you in the hospital so you have to have proper protection. As I waded into the water, I saw a small shark, about two feet long, swimming away. Later, I saw rocks in the water….but the rocks seemed to move. Stingrays! They skimmed along the bottom of the water away from me. You would think that all this marine danger would have put me off Whitehaven. But no! I was joyous. Channelling a mermaid/siren, I ran on the beach, bodysurfed the crashing waves and sang the chorus of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah over and again at the top of my lungs.
Too soon, the Whitsundays cruise came to a close and we ended up back in Airlie. It would be three more days until I regained my land legs and the world stopped rocking when I sat still. But I felt gloriously well: healthy, strong, fit and tanned. But also calm and cleansed. The trip was good for me, both body and soul. That last afternoon in Airlie, Kelly and I had just enough time to bake and swim by the lagoon again, devour more mud crabs and mojitos with our boat mates, take a much-needed shower and hop back on the Greyhound. More stories from the road to follow - lots of love to everyone back home.
That new place was Airlie Beach, the small town gateway to the Whitsunday Islands. Airlie seems to be just one busy street, with the bus station at one end and my hostel at the other. I quickly saw all the things in between, including many obliging beer gardens, countless shops selling hats, sunnies and beachwear, and (most importantly) the best seafood experience of my life, so far. After spending the day baking and swimming at the Airlie lagoon, I met up with Kelly, one of the Texans, and Andrew from Sydney, who had his dad with him visiting from PEI. We sat outside at the seafood resto: the night was warm, the mojitos flowed and the fish was fresh. Andrew tackled a huge mud crab while the rest of us ate less messy fare like seared tuna steaks, chili-encrusted mackerel and garlic prawn linguine. After dinner and a few pitchers at the beer garden, we walked home late in the hot night comfortable in shorts and tees.
Then, an adventure on the high seas! We joined 16 other people boarding Wings II, a catamaran touring the Whitsundays for three days. What heaven did follow…the first afternoon we spent snorkelling in Blue Pearl Bay at the top end of Hayman Island. When we headed to our anchorage at sunset, we passed the luxury resort on Hayman where the rich and famous play. Watching the light fade over blue ocean and green mountain, I felt just as rich and blessed as Brad and Angie or Tommy Lee.
At the front of the boat, there were big nets to laze in and a large deck to stretch out on. Inside, the cook spoiled us at every meal with hearty stuff like barbecue chicken and steak, lovely salads and garlic bread. We slept in cozy little berths, rocked by the waves. There was a hum of happiness and group affection on the vessel. Our mixed company included a big group of exchange students from University of the Sunshine Coast with lots of crazy Germans guys and gorgeous Danish girls. The rest were Americans, Brits and a few Frenchmen. Our crew of five included a beautiful blonde Swede called Anna, two energetic dive masters Stu and Alicia, Chris the big warm cook, and Nick the hot Aussie skipper. I took a turn steering the boat and Nick confessed his love of Canadian women to me as I directed us toward our destination on the horizon. Remembering my father’s advice to me, I kept my eyes fixed on the horizon and didn’t let myself fall for a sailor man.
On the second day, I rose to watch the sunset as Nick and Stu hauled anchor. After a brisk wake-up sail (or throw-up sail, for some people), we anchored again in a calm bay for breakfast and a glimpse of sea turtles coming up next to the side of the boat for their first breath of the day. More snorkelling and diving was in store for us, as well as a visit to Whitehaven Beach, allegedly one of the top five beaches in the world. Now, you may not believe it but I was the only one to swim at Whitehaven. Do I sense a pattern? Actually, I was the only one who thought to bring a wetsuit. Marine stingers can be a threat in Queensland - they are the kind of jellyfish whose stings can land you in the hospital so you have to have proper protection. As I waded into the water, I saw a small shark, about two feet long, swimming away. Later, I saw rocks in the water….but the rocks seemed to move. Stingrays! They skimmed along the bottom of the water away from me. You would think that all this marine danger would have put me off Whitehaven. But no! I was joyous. Channelling a mermaid/siren, I ran on the beach, bodysurfed the crashing waves and sang the chorus of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah over and again at the top of my lungs.
Too soon, the Whitsundays cruise came to a close and we ended up back in Airlie. It would be three more days until I regained my land legs and the world stopped rocking when I sat still. But I felt gloriously well: healthy, strong, fit and tanned. But also calm and cleansed. The trip was good for me, both body and soul. That last afternoon in Airlie, Kelly and I had just enough time to bake and swim by the lagoon again, devour more mud crabs and mojitos with our boat mates, take a much-needed shower and hop back on the Greyhound. More stories from the road to follow - lots of love to everyone back home.
Monday, September 22, 2008
In a garden, we swam
Hello from Queensland, the sunshine state in Australia! I've been in Cairns since Friday and the weather has been sunny and hot - about 27 degrees in the day and 22 at night. This truly is a tropical paradise.
The city of Cairns is a grid of streets in a valley surrounded by rainforest and mountains. At its best, Cairns is breezy and warm, fresh white linen and palm trees. At its worst, it is drunken and wild, with cheap souvenirs, too-loud music and the smell of spilled beer. This is the jumping-off point for exploring the Great Barrier Reef, one of the seven natural wonders of the world, and the Daintree Rainforest, a UNESCO world heritage site.
I got my first introduction to hostel living on Friday when I arrived in the six-bed dorm to find clothes and empty beer bottles strewn about the room. The beds were all unmade (including mine) and the carpet smelled like it had been soaked in beer. But I rectified the situation with reception and, after downing a beer at the hostel bar, I quickly recovered from my trauma.
Saturday I went on a tour to the Daintree Rainforest, which included a cruise down the Daintree river. Crikey! We spotted some crocs sunning themselves on the shore. After a hike in the Mossman Gorge, we ended up at the swimming hole. Of course, I was the only one in the group to go swimming. The water was cool and clear, with fish swimming around me. It was paradise.
On Sunday, I went with Corey and Shwin, two American college boys, on a Reef cruise. The Reef is a huge industry in Cairns, apparently responsible for about 60000 full time jobs and billions of dollars in revenue. Our boat held about 60 guests (and 10 tanned and muscly crew). After an hour cruise out to the reef, we all donned wetsuits, finns and snorkels to play in the "garden" for many hours. It was so beautiful and peaceful to float amongst multi-coloured fish and beautiful coral - the designs and colours were inspiring.
Shwin, who is the most serious and organized 19-year-old I've met, wanted to experience Cairns nightlife in a serious way. So, like a drill sergeant, he marched our crew from bar to bar ("Only one drink because we have to move on!") until we had toured every major place in Cairns. Not bad for a Sunday night.
After all those tours, I was happy to sleep in this morning and spend an organic day wandering the streets of Cairns and then renting a car with Corey and Shwin to visit Port Douglas in the afternoon. They were so happy that I'm over 25 - a cheaper rental. I drove in Australia for the first time and managed pretty well on the other side of the road (aided by a whole lotta back-seat driving). The road to Port Douglas winds along the coast with blue blue ocean on one side and rainforest on the other.
Port Douglas was a much slower pace than Cairns. On Four Mile Beach, we played in the water and the boys buried me in the hot sand. Later, we walked into town and found that "Douggie" is the kind of place where neither shirts nor shoes are required to get service at a restaurant. We had drinks at Soul'n'Pepper on a lovely terrace near the Yacht Club. A boy at the end of the pier caught an eel which wriggled off the hook while the boy called for his dad to come help him. Down at the St. Mary's church, which is supposed to have a two-year waiting list for marriages, a happy couple tied the knot on a sunny Monday afternoon. We finished the day by hiking up to the lookout for a lovely sunset view of the coast.
I'm now back in Cairns, waiting to board the night bus to Airlie Beach. In the meantime, I'm going to check out the night markets and maybe get a cheap massage from one of the dozen massage stalls. More news to follow...lots of love to everyone back home.
The city of Cairns is a grid of streets in a valley surrounded by rainforest and mountains. At its best, Cairns is breezy and warm, fresh white linen and palm trees. At its worst, it is drunken and wild, with cheap souvenirs, too-loud music and the smell of spilled beer. This is the jumping-off point for exploring the Great Barrier Reef, one of the seven natural wonders of the world, and the Daintree Rainforest, a UNESCO world heritage site.
I got my first introduction to hostel living on Friday when I arrived in the six-bed dorm to find clothes and empty beer bottles strewn about the room. The beds were all unmade (including mine) and the carpet smelled like it had been soaked in beer. But I rectified the situation with reception and, after downing a beer at the hostel bar, I quickly recovered from my trauma.
Saturday I went on a tour to the Daintree Rainforest, which included a cruise down the Daintree river. Crikey! We spotted some crocs sunning themselves on the shore. After a hike in the Mossman Gorge, we ended up at the swimming hole. Of course, I was the only one in the group to go swimming. The water was cool and clear, with fish swimming around me. It was paradise.
On Sunday, I went with Corey and Shwin, two American college boys, on a Reef cruise. The Reef is a huge industry in Cairns, apparently responsible for about 60000 full time jobs and billions of dollars in revenue. Our boat held about 60 guests (and 10 tanned and muscly crew). After an hour cruise out to the reef, we all donned wetsuits, finns and snorkels to play in the "garden" for many hours. It was so beautiful and peaceful to float amongst multi-coloured fish and beautiful coral - the designs and colours were inspiring.
Shwin, who is the most serious and organized 19-year-old I've met, wanted to experience Cairns nightlife in a serious way. So, like a drill sergeant, he marched our crew from bar to bar ("Only one drink because we have to move on!") until we had toured every major place in Cairns. Not bad for a Sunday night.
After all those tours, I was happy to sleep in this morning and spend an organic day wandering the streets of Cairns and then renting a car with Corey and Shwin to visit Port Douglas in the afternoon. They were so happy that I'm over 25 - a cheaper rental. I drove in Australia for the first time and managed pretty well on the other side of the road (aided by a whole lotta back-seat driving). The road to Port Douglas winds along the coast with blue blue ocean on one side and rainforest on the other.
Port Douglas was a much slower pace than Cairns. On Four Mile Beach, we played in the water and the boys buried me in the hot sand. Later, we walked into town and found that "Douggie" is the kind of place where neither shirts nor shoes are required to get service at a restaurant. We had drinks at Soul'n'Pepper on a lovely terrace near the Yacht Club. A boy at the end of the pier caught an eel which wriggled off the hook while the boy called for his dad to come help him. Down at the St. Mary's church, which is supposed to have a two-year waiting list for marriages, a happy couple tied the knot on a sunny Monday afternoon. We finished the day by hiking up to the lookout for a lovely sunset view of the coast.
I'm now back in Cairns, waiting to board the night bus to Airlie Beach. In the meantime, I'm going to check out the night markets and maybe get a cheap massage from one of the dozen massage stalls. More news to follow...lots of love to everyone back home.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Melbourne friends
Here are a few pics of some friends in Melbourne, including Channie (my korean girlfriend), Kelly (one of the Texans), Jenne (a wee Scot), and Sebastian (german hottie).
The Great Dissenter
Last week, I had to opportunity to hear Australian High Court Justice Michael Kirby speak at the Melbourne Law School. The biggest auditorium at the faculty was packed full, with people standing at the back and sitting in the aisles. The crowd was excited and chattering away, but when Kirby walked into the room, everyone stopped talking and gave him a huge round of applause.
Kirby is known at the Great Dissenter – he is the judge who always disagrees, respectfully, with the majority decision of other judges on the High Court. As a person who has always followed the “rules,” I found his speech very inspiring. First of all, he has a great sense of humour, “I bet you all curse me because I’m the one who makes your readings longer!” But he was also serious and sincere. He told us that the beauty of common law is that there is room for differing opinions and organic growth of the law. “The law is a noble profession in the protection of human values,” he said. “But a drawback of being a lawyer or judge is that you are at risk of withdrawing into objectivity and losing your emotional abilities.” He advised students to work hard, but also to find someone to go home to at the end of the day and share the personal side of life with.
Anyway, I just wanted to share that experience. I feel like it is illustrative of all the inspiring things I’m being exposed to. I know I’ve been making jokes about not going to school or studying – but maybe being on exchange is more about learning the big lessons instead of the minute details of statutes.
In a few hours, I’m boarding my flight to Cairns…once I find internet access, I will write again about my time in the Daintree Rainforest and the Great Barrier Reef! Lots of love to everyone back home.
Kirby is known at the Great Dissenter – he is the judge who always disagrees, respectfully, with the majority decision of other judges on the High Court. As a person who has always followed the “rules,” I found his speech very inspiring. First of all, he has a great sense of humour, “I bet you all curse me because I’m the one who makes your readings longer!” But he was also serious and sincere. He told us that the beauty of common law is that there is room for differing opinions and organic growth of the law. “The law is a noble profession in the protection of human values,” he said. “But a drawback of being a lawyer or judge is that you are at risk of withdrawing into objectivity and losing your emotional abilities.” He advised students to work hard, but also to find someone to go home to at the end of the day and share the personal side of life with.
Anyway, I just wanted to share that experience. I feel like it is illustrative of all the inspiring things I’m being exposed to. I know I’ve been making jokes about not going to school or studying – but maybe being on exchange is more about learning the big lessons instead of the minute details of statutes.
In a few hours, I’m boarding my flight to Cairns…once I find internet access, I will write again about my time in the Daintree Rainforest and the Great Barrier Reef! Lots of love to everyone back home.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)